


Seriously though, Arthur, how did you not know that?

by knowledgeiscake



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Denial, Fluff, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexuality, everything, poor little Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowledgeiscake/pseuds/knowledgeiscake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a kink-meme fill I unfortunately lost a while back.<br/>Arthur has a crush on Martin, but he's in denial because Gordon always hated the idea of his only son being gay.<br/>Also, Skip's not even gay... is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur cheerily poked his head into the flight deck. “I’m all done cleaning up, Douglas, I think I’m going to head back to the portacabin now.”  
Martin had, in a flash of what could only be called divine intervention, actually won one of the pilot’s games earlier (they had been trying to compose the longest sentence possible using words that all began with the same letter) so Douglas was alone on the flight deck finishing the logs as punishment. He was starved for a distraction, however dim it might be. “Ah, all done scrubbing the vomit out of the loo then?”  
“Yep!” Arthur said brightly, “Stag parties are some of my favorite trips!”  
Douglas wrinkled his nose, “Arthur, surely your philosophy of apple tossing doesn’t also apply to scrubbing the peppermint schnapps scented ooze out of porcelain?”  
“Well… no.” he said, losing just a fraction of his near constant cheer, “Actually that’s not fun at all. It’s just all the nice blokes having fun and joking around! There were an awful lot of them today.”  
“Yes, I imagine so.” The first officer said as he sifted through the paperwork in his lap “It sort of comes with the territory when you’re combining two stag parties into one.”  
Arthur frowned minutely, “What do you mean? Is the groom getting married twice?”  
“I can safely say, from personal experience, that getting married twice is a TERRIBLE idea. More terrible even than getting married once, and only exceeded in terribleness by getting married three times. No, Arthur, the reason the stag party was so large is because it was for _two_ men about to enter into the never ending agony that is eternal marital bliss. Poor blokes.”  
“Oh.” Arthur muttered, for once in his life struggling to find something to say.  
“To be honest,” Douglas crooned, snapping any attempt at silence, “I rather thought you’d have figured that much out. Even without those indispensible skills from your ‘understanding people’ course in Ipswich.”  
Arthur was adorably confused. “Why?”  
“Because, dear Arthur, I was rather under the impression that that was your _team_.”  
“NO!” Arthur shouted quickly. The sudden outburst jolted Douglas. For a moment he stopped to read Arthur’s expression. He wasn’t insulted or angry. He wasn’t even defensive. Arthur was concerned. Worried. Terrified.  
“Er… I…” Arthur cleared his throat in an impressively pitiful effort at nonchalance, “I’m not. Gay, that is. I’m not gay. I’m not. I’m not.”  
“When will you realize that repeating things by no means makes them easier to believe?” Douglas sighed then caught sight of Arthur’s distraught expression, “Alright, Arthur,” He placated, his voice gentler now. “You’re not gay.”  
Another awkward silence bore down on the cabin.  
“You know, it’d be alright if you were.”  
Arthur squirmed a bit and suddenly seemed intensely interested in the pattern of GERTI’s garish carpeting.  
“I’m not gay. It’s just. My dad… well Gordon. He would always get upset about me not having a proper girlfriend.” Arthur said very quickly, as if hoping he had said them so fast that Douglas hadn’t heard. “He told me… he told me that no son of his was going to… well I mean… what he said was…”   
Douglas watched calmly as Arthur flailed in search of the proper words, “No son of his was ever going to be a debonair romancer with a way with words?” he offered, “I can’t help but feel that I agree.”  
“…’Take it up the arse’.”

…

For once, it was Arthur and not Douglas who broke the long silence, “When I was a kid,” he started, more slowly this time, “I had a best friend called Gabe. I really liked him! I mean REALLY liked him! We would play pirates and astronauts and all sorts of fun games. But er… well then one day he didn’t come over to play. And I was so… confused. But then Gordon explained that he had sent Gabe away. Because he said Gabe fancied me.”  
Douglas listened to all this with what he had hoped was a neutral expression; however the illusion was ruined by his pronounced furrowed brow. “DID Gabe fancy you?” he asked.  
“Well, I don’t think so, no. But, you see, he had two mums. It was… It was only a matter of time. So Gordon said I couldn’t really be friends with him anymore.”  
Douglas couldn’t help but scowl at the normally affable steward, “Oh YES.” His voice was positively dripping acid, “Who could fault THAT logic?”  
Arthur shrunk back; even he could detect that much sarcasm in such a small sentence.  
Douglas softened a bit. “You know Arthur, a lot of successful important people are gay. What’s that show you watch? _Doctor Why _?”__  
Arthur perked up a little bit. “Doctor Who! It’s my favorite! Did you ever see the one where all the cats are driving cars in the tube, but it’s not really the tube, it’s…”  
“No.” Douglas interrupted, “I have made it my personal mission in life to never see anything that can be described using the phrase ‘ _cats driving cars_ ’. But I do remember reading somewhere about that writer, Gatiss? He’s gay.”  
“Douglas!” Arthur snorted, “Just because he’s got ‘gay’ in his name doesn’t make him gay! That’d be like saying you’re rich just because you’re ‘Richardson’.”  
“Well not exactly…”  
“And I know you’re not because you said mum doesn’t pay you much more than she pays Martin. And a little bit more than nothing is… well it’s very nearly nothing!”  
“Well played.” Douglas drawled icily, “I can, however, think of one person you adore who is without a doubt gay. And I know he is because he TOLD me so. Not of his own volition, mind you but he _did_ tell me.”  
“Who?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious.  
“The one, the only, Sir Captain Martin Crieff.”  
The first officer relished in seeing Arthur’s face flush bright red “Skip?” he whispered.  
“Yes. He’s between boyfriends at the moment. He rather fancied the last one. At least, I assume he did, judging by how much joy he took in having quite a bit of trouble sitting down for long periods of time. Which is especially notable because, I don’t know if he’s told you this, he’s the _captain_ and thus does and awful lot of sitting around on his arse.”  
Arthur took a few deep breaths before speaking. Surely this was just another one of Douglas’ jokes that Arthur could never quite understand. Surely Martin… his Martin… _their_ Martin wasn’t gay. That would be… it would mean… “Douglas. You’re making all that up.” he chastised, his voice composed, but his face still bright red, “Skip has a girlfriend, remember? He’s always talking about her! They spent Christmas together.”  
“Ah, you mean Jamie?”  
“Yes, that’s her name!”  
“Jamie. _Short for James_.”  
“Oh…”  
“Yes, they broke up a while ago. All for the best.” Douglas allowed himself a small smirk “Martin rarely had trouble sitting down when he was with Jamie.”  
“Well, thanks… thanks for the chat Douglas!” Arthur stammered as he suddenly stumbled towards the flight-deck door. “It was very nice, but I’ll be having to be going now! See you tomorrow!”  
Douglas guffawed to himself as the heavy door slammed shut. He’d certainly gotten enough amusement out of that to last him through the rest of the flight logs.

-

_Surely, Martin couldn’t be gay._ Arthur pondered this as he knocked on the big grey door with the peeling paint. Martin was so nice. And so handsome. Especially in his uniform… No, no, not like that! He just must get a lot of pretty women asking him out all the time. Arthur never understood why Skip was so unpopular with the ground crew. Who couldn’t like him? He was so smart. He knew everything there was to know about planes. Suddenly, the old door creaked open. Oh god. A tired looking Martin had answered it. Arthur hadn’t really been prepared for that. He assumed one of the students would answer. He thought he’d have more time to prepare…  
“Hello Skipper!” he chirped, partly out of reflex.  
“Arthur! What on earth are you doing here?” Martin said, his voice both surprised and pained, as he less-than-subtly closed the door behind him, clearly hoping that his dismal living conditions had somehow escaped Arthur’s notice.  
“Well…” Arthur started “I… er…” Oh. He had really completely forgotten why he’d come. He didn’t even remember making his way over to Martin’s home, now that he thought about it. He remembered talking to Douglas on GERTI. But what next? Arthur looked behind him into the street and saw his (well, now technically Douglas’) car rather poorly parallel parked. That was one mystery solved. But he didn’t remember driving here. He hoped he hadn’t hit any small animals in his hypnotized state… The steward turned back to face the doorway and suddenly found himself unable to remember anything, let alone what he was doing there. He realized Martin had just gotten out of the shower. He was wearing old jeans and a crumpled, comfy looking t-shirt that was about five sizes too large for his tiny delicate frame, with a damp towel wrapped around his shoulders. His ginger curls were clinging to his scalp, each one tinted dark by the water… Hm? What?! No. Focus.  
“I’ve er… I’ve come to ask you something!” Arthur fumbled. Yes, that seemed like something he might have driven over to Martin’s place to do. Or did it? Why hadn’t he just called on the phone?  
“Oh. What is it?”  
“Well… It’s a question.”  
“Yes, I gathered that.” Martin said, starting to sound a bit put out about standing outside in the cold with wet hair, “What’s the question?”  
“Are… do you…” Arthur sputtered, “I… Douglas said you were gay.”  
“Yes…?”  
“Oh. So. It’s true then?”  
“Arthur.” Martin sighed, “I mean, I know you like to float off into your own little fairytale world, but I do tend to mention my boyfriends every once in a while. Don’t you remember hearing me talk about Jamie?”  
The steward ducked his head, ashamed. “Yeah, well, to be honest, I thought Jamie was a girl.”  
Martin just stared at Arthur for a moment, mouth agape. “You can’t be serious. I mean, I know I don’t walk around in pink stilettos or anything, but…”  
“Did you break up because the sex was bad?” Arthur nearly shouted, then gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth. Had he really just asked that? “Sorry, Skip! That was Douglas. Douglas Miss Marple’d that and then told me. I mean, unless it’s not true.”  
“I… I mean… I don’t see how that’s any of your OR Douglas’ business!”  
“Right.” Arthur backtracked quickly, “No. Exactly. Because it’s wrong.”  
“Yes, it’s…” Martin paused and looked a bit confused, “No, hold on. What’s _wrong_?”  
“Hm? Me? I’m fine.”  
“No, you just said ‘It’s wrong’. What is ‘it’, Arthur?”  
“It! _It_ is! Everything is wrong with it! Everything! Because you just can’t do that! You can’t want that! Nobody can! I can’t! A man can’t look at a man and think those things. A man can’t look at another man and get those fluttery feelings in his tummy like he’s just eaten a whole carton of fizzy yoghurt. It’s not right! It’s not right!” By this point, Arthur was nearly in tears. “That’s what Gordon said. ‘It’s not right.’ Dad said it’s not right.”  
Sudden understanding flashed across Martin’s face as he reached out to hug the steward and Arthur simply let himself collapse into his captain’s arms. For a long while they just stood there in the doorway to the student house in downtown Fitton. Arthur whimpering quietly into Martin’s shoulder.  
“Arthur.” Martin whispered, “I had no idea.”  
“I guess maybe I can lie a bit after all, Skip.” Arthur sniffled, stepping back from Martin and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.  
“If you don’t mind my asking…” Martin trailed off.  
“What?”  
“Who is it?” Martin asked cautiously.  
Arthur’s stomach dropped. Bad news: Martin hadn’t figured it out yet. Good news: Martin hadn’t figured it out yet. Maybe Arthur could still save face a bit.  
“Dirk.” Oh god, it was so easy to lie to him. Why was it so easy? It had never been easy before…  
Martin smiled and it stabbed straight through Arthur. “Oh yes, he’s quite fit, isn’t he?”  
Arthur barely held back a cringe. Why was it so easy to lie to Martin? Maybe Arthur had just had more practice lying about this particular subject. After all, he’d been lying to himself for years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin decides it's time to give Arthur some of his patented dating advice.  
> Ohhhh shit.

Arthur tried, in vain, to convince himself that everything was fine. Really, it was just two mates out for a drink. That’s all. People do it all the time. It was perfectly normal.  
He was sitting on a sticky barstool covered in cracked red pleather, clutching a bottle of beer, some off-brand he’d never heard of. He wasn’t drinking it though. Partly because he didn’t really much like the taste of alcohol and partly because of his desire to stay competent in front of the lanky ginger airline pilot sitting beside him.  
Why had he agreed to this? What part of his mind had ever thought this would be a good idea? When Martin had suggested they meet up for a pint so the captain could give him some practical advice… he really hadn’t been thinking. Arthur was beginning to suspect that he would never get people’s meaning on the first go. Martin wanted to teach Arthur _how to pick up men_. Specifically, how to pick up _Dirk_. Because Arthur had lied. Oh god, he had lied. About Dirk. And now Martin was going to give him _advice_. Well, that had been the plan. The pair actually hadn’t spoken a word to each other aside from exchanging quick “hello”s when they met outside the bar. The _gay_ bar.  
Now, twenty minutes or so later, the silence was rather like when you find a jumper in the back of your closet that you’ve forgotten about. You try to put it on but then you realize you must have gained quite a bit of weight since you last wore it. Thick, heavy, pressing, and incredibly awkward. But all the while with that underlying sense that you were wearing the same jumper only a few days ago. So it _should_ still fit. Shouldn’t it?  
“So… Arthur.” Martin suddenly started, as Arthur mentally threw his metaphorical jumper back in the metaphorical wardrobe. “Have you ever done this before?”  
“Er… the drinking, Skip?” Arthur muttered towards the floor, never looking up “Because I’ve done that before. Or the going to a bar? Or the going to a gay bar?”  
Martin chuckled half-heartedly, “Yes, I suppose it’s not that unusual. Except for the er… gay bar part. Which I imagine you haven’t done then.”  
Arthur took a moment to glance around the bar again. It didn’t look so different from any other pub. The decorations weren’t so different. It seemed a bit cleaner than most places he’d been actually. But of course there were no women. He was surrounded by men. Tall men, short men, muscly men, skinny men. Incredibly handsome men.  
And yet, Arthur was surprised to note, he wasn’t remotely interested in them. They all looked nice. Like they might be fun to chat with. But he didn’t get that fizzy yoghurt feeling when he looked around the bar. Arthur grinned widely as he realized this. Clearly, a mistake had been made. Here he was, in a gay bar, trying it out, and he didn’t feel a thing. Everything was going to be fine. He wasn’t gay!  
Arthur turned back to Martin and opened his mouth to tell him that this had all been a rather funny mistake and that he would be leaving now, thanks for trying… when the feeling came back.  
That same feeling he had experienced on Martin’s stoop two days ago. There he was. Slumped against the wood counter, his head held up only barely by one hand whose fingers were intricately twined through his perfect ginger hair. His face was flushed from the alcohol (Arthur distantly realized that Martin had already had several drinks despite the fact that he himself had barely had any). It was just so damn… _sexy_.  
Several minutes later, when Martin looked up, Arthur realized that he had been staring that whole time.  
“I’m **so** sorry.” Martin whispered, misreading Arthur’s awestruck expression as one of discontent. “Of course you don’t want me to drag you to a gay bar and teach you how to pick up guys. You’ve only just even figured this all out.”  
“…Skip, don’t beat yourself up about it.” Arthur managed to squeak out.  
“No, no, it’s all my fault, this was all too soon.”  
“Skipper…”  
Martin let his forehead thunk against the counter again, “I’m such a dolt.” He muttered into the stained and sour wood. “I’m surprised I’m even allowed to interact with other people. They should just lock me up. I’m rubbish at holding real conversations anyhow. All I can talk about with any real authority is bloody _aeroplanes_. How’s that for a chat-up line? I think I’ll just hide in my attic for the rest of eternity. I doubt anyone would notice.”  
“Skip!” Arthur snapped, “I hate to say this to you but… **shut up**!”  
Martin looked up at Arthur from his hunched position, eyes full of confusion, but thankfully didn’t say anything else.  
“Skip, you can’t just hide in your attic every time things go wrong! If you keep thinking about all the bad bits then you’ll miss out on all the good bits as well! You wouldn’t get to fly GERTI and you wouldn’t get to play word games with me and Douglas and you wouldn’t get to have mum yell at you and you wouldn’t get to look for shapes in the clouds or smell those rose-scented air fresheners I put in the portacabin instead of actual roses or do anything fun at all! You’re _brilliant_ and, yeah, sometimes you do not-so-brilliant stuff, but it doesn’t mean _you’re_ not brilliant! Because you are!”  
And suddenly, without so much as a hint of preamble, Martin was kissing Arthur. Their mouths mashed together in an uncoordinated tangle. Honestly… it was quite nice. Warm and soft but insistent. Giving but demanding as well. It was the kiss of a man filled with _want_.  
And then just as quickly as it started, it was over. Martin had pulled away and was staring at Arthur, a hand clapped dramatically over his (brilliant, _brilliant_ ) mouth.  
“I’m so so sorry Arthur!” Martin insisted, standing up from his seat, “That was ridiculous, what was I _thinking_? Stupid. Stupid!” he snatched his coat from the stool where he had set it earlier and started to make for the door. Arthur followed. “Really, I’m sorry! It’s just when you said that… well I mean I have no right to… I’ve always…” Martin stopped just before he reached the exit and turned back to look at Arthur. The captain’s eyes were glazed over with the beginnings of a barrage of tears. “I never told you. But I’ve always thought you were… you were…” he stammered and sputtered but, clearly, he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Martin took a long, deep, steadying breath and put on a forced smile. “Someday, you’re going to make some lucky bloke very very happy.”  
And then it was Arthur’s turn to initiate a sudden snog.  
They came up for air several minutes later and only then because people kept wanting to open the door and they were blocking the way in their current position. Arthur gasped for breath as they pulled themselves over to the wall, out of the way. Had he really done that? He had. Why? Why had he done that? He should feel terrible right now. It’s wrong. It’s so so wrong. He tried to keep thinking that. He was trying, damnit, he was trying. But he couldn’t help it when some dusty corner of his brain clicked on for the first time in years. He looked over at a frozen Martin, whose face had turned even redder, if that were possible.  
“So…” the pilot whispered hoarsely, “I reckon you don’t actually fancy Dirk then?”

-

Neither of them ever dared use the word “boyfriend”. Or “date” for that matter. It was always very casual. Such as:

“Skip, want to meet up for lunch later?”

or

"Oh, Arthur, do you fancy going to see that new movie tonight?”

And they would go to some manly action flick and each buy separate tickets and pay for their own popcorn… But as soon as the lights went down, their fingers would reflexively twine together on the armrest between them.  
Of course, they never made their plans around Carolyn or even Douglas if they could avoid it. (But, secretly, Martin thought that maybe Douglas already suspected what was going on). So it was into the long dark shadow of the ATC tower that Martin pulled his steward one evening after a flight from Paris.  
“Arthur!” once they were safely in their hiding spot the captain sighed his name. As if he had been afraid to say the man’s name before. As if he had been too afraid that some of the affection, now so obvious in his voice, might seep through.  
“Yes, Captain?” Oh, Skip’s eyes lit up whenever Arthur called him that. Arthur made a mental note to do that more often. Or maybe all the time. Just for a change of pace, you know.  
Martin smiled bashfully “I was… er… I was wondering… if… if you’re not busy. Tonight, that is! If you’re not busy… tonight. Would you like to… comeovertomyplace?” he stumbled over the words like he had only ever read books about speaking, never actually tried it, and towards the end everything just crashed together in a big mess. But Arthur got the gist of it.  
“You… you want me to come see your place, Skip?”  
Martin, still finding speech difficult, nodded, then swallowed and managed to choke out a few recognizable phrases, “I… I mean nothing!... Nothing like… you know. Just… talking. Us. Together.”  
“Oh.” **Oh.** This was certainly a… leap. But, it was just two mates at somebody’s flat, right?

…

No. Wrong. This was more than just a mate. This was _Martin_. Smart, strong, handsome Martin. The Martin he spoke to every day. The one that made Arthur so happy as soon as he walked in a room. The one he couldn’t imagine living in a world without. And suddenly, Arthur didn’t just feel like it was _okay_ to say yes. He _wanted_ to say yes. He _had_ to say yes.  
“Sure, Skip!”  
Oh, just to see that look on Martin’s face was worth it all. That look of relief, of contentment, of _joy_. Like when he landed GERTI after a flight on which he had managed to not botch up a single thing.  
“Oh. Brilliant.” Martin was clearly trying to hold back a ludicrous grin (and for the most part, failing).  
“Yeah. That.” Arthur whispered as he reached up to move a stray ginger curl out of his captain’s eyes. Those BRILLIANT eyes. Like the kinds of cloud you could see from up in GERTI. But not fluffy like clouds. Or white. Or made of water. Just… soft. And light. And comforting. Home.  
“Arthur…” Martin whispered, barely a breath, which made the steward realize just how close he his face had gotten to Martin’s in an attempt to lose himself completely in his captain’s gaze.  
Very close.  
They hadn’t kissed since that night at the pub. It had never been the right moment. But before he knew what was happening, Arthur was leaning in and… bollocks. Arthur’s cellphone chimed in his pocket (some ridiculously annoying ringtone he’d downloaded), effectively stopping their lips mere centimeters apart.  
The pair pulled away from each other as Arthur fumbled to locate his phone. He tried to shoot Martin an apologetic look, but the pilot just waved him on, both of them still a little too euphoric to be bothered by anything at this point. Arthur moseyed over towards the edge of the airfield, not really because he needed the privacy, but more because he just liked wandering sometimes. He was in a cheerful, wandering sort of mood. Once he reached the chain-link fence the steward took a while to fish his mobile out of his jacket pocket but eventually managed to catch it before the last few rings. He answered it without even looking at who was calling.  
That was his big mistake.  
Maybe if he had looked then he would have hesitated too long and missed the call. Or maybe he would have been able to push that angry little red button and ignore it altogether.  
“Hello?” Arthur chirped as he looked around absently at the trees that lined the airfield, each one now steeped in autumn. The bright oranges and deep reds and crisp yellows really made Arthur want to take a long walk in the park. Maybe Martin would go with him? Oh that would be BRILLAINT…  
“Arthur?” came the voice from the phone. Arthur froze. No matter how long it had been, he couldn’t forget that voice if he wanted to. “It’s your father.”  
“H-Hi.” _Oh god._ “Hi.” _What?_ “Hi!” _How?_ “Hi!”  
“Hello, Arthur.”  
“Hi… Dad.”  
“How are you doing?”  
“F-fine. How are you, Dad?”  
“Dandy. Listen. I’m back in town and I’ve been thinking you and I should have a nice father/son chat.”  
“Yeah? Er… Brilliant! That’d be brilliant!”  
“Glad to hear it! We’ll meet up for dinner round 7 then?”  
“You… you mean tonight?”  
“Yes. Tonight. I want to see you, my boy! What, have you got plans?”

…

“No. No, I haven’t got plans. Where should I meet you?”


End file.
